


De Praestigiis Daemonum

by Chanel_Pirate



Category: Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Class Differences, Edgeplay, Face-Sitting, Facials, Fun With Anatomy, Height Differences, Infidelity, Loona cameo, Lust at First Sight, M&M cameo, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Prequel, Stella cameo, Stolas' Filthy Mouth, brief reference to Alastor, shades of dream daddy but eldritch and less wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29719575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chanel_Pirate/pseuds/Chanel_Pirate
Summary: All great love stories* have to start somewhere!* Mutually beneficial arrangements.†† Depending on whom you ask.‡‡ And when.
Relationships: Blitzo/Stolas Goetia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	De Praestigiis Daemonum

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please make sure you have read the tags. **TW** for canon-typical domestics in the very last scene, i.e. Stella throwing things about. 
> 
> My proud headcanon for Stolas’ junk is a little bit bird and a little bit snake, with plenty of inspiration from Bad Dragon and The Shape of Water. The power of imagination! 
> 
> With kindest regards to the MI5 agent monitoring my internet search history. 
> 
> Please note also that this is skewed to Stolas’ POV, and he’s no angel. Anymore.

  
The problem was this: nothing ever really changed. History repeating, rhyming, and so on. Same things, different order. Stolas sighed as he watched the election results come in. Another fascist demagogue who’d brought down his own house of cards. It always happened the same way. Drunk with power, they’d get too vulgar, and it invariably led to a counter-reaction. Years of work, down the drain. It would come around again, of course, such was the nature of revolution, but in the meantime he’d need to find another pet project. The next weakest link in the chain.

His eyes glowed a brighter red as he flicked through the images he’d cast. He could, of course, focus on the obvious old favourites, but democracies tended to be more rewarding. 

It was more satisfying when people were made to feel they’d chosen damnation for themselves. When they believed their choices affected anything.

Stolas’ attention caught on a projection of a harried middle-aged human. His upper eyes narrowed, allowing him to perceive: Dr. Christofis Rauche, head of medical research at a pharmaceutical company. An overlooked genius, worrying and lobbying for the advancement of research into a vaccine that only he believed would become crucial within the next five years, for something the funding department dismissed as a black swan event. Rauche was the foremost global expert and most powerful proponent of this vaccine, and he had a moral conscience, a combination Stolas found delicious. If events were to unfold as Rauche expected—and Stolas’ powers of foresight agreed with his view—Rauche would be a crucial player whose actions would indirectly save hundreds of miillions of lives and indeed, livelihoods.

Wouldn’t it be a shame if something awful were to happen to him?

He pulled the Lemegeton to him, and started plotting. This wouldn’t take long, which was just as well. He didn’t want to miss out on reading Via her bedtime story. She was getting too old for them, and would probably stop asking for her father soon.

*

With his owlet safely tucked into bed, Stolas stalked through the halls of the palace, checking on thee plants. Happy and well-fed—though one of his naughty chaps seemed to have got its teeth around one of the servants again, if the gore was any indication. He’d have to have another summoned. Such was life, with its rich tapestry of inconveniences. 

He patted the misbehaving plant on its vicious little head, and was struck still by a thought. The plant twitched inquisitively.

Octavia and his plants almost entirely depended on him for their well-being, and he too often left himself exposed in his line of work.

Worse, when he was away, he left the home front vulnerable to anything that might want to breach its defences. Why had he just now considered this? And Stella, bless her, Stella was formidable in her own right, but he couldn’t ask her to abjure her appointments and responsibilities just to sit at home. He to do the work she did to maintain their standing in society and the terrified loyalty of their legions. All those airs and graces: if she did it, it meant he didn’t have to. And not only did she do it well, she actually enjoyed it.

The plant nibbled at one of his talons. He pulled it away with a gentle hoot of rebuke, which made it droop sadly. Oh, he wouldn’t fall for that one. 

“Come off it, dear. I know you’ve just had your supper.”

It wobbled a bit, its pitcher still swollen with servant, which gave Stolas an idea.

As a Great Prince of Hell, he knew his way around clauses and loopholes, terms and conditions. Omissions. There was nothing saying he couldn’t sub-contract. It was not not legal. In the broader spirit of the law. If read a certain way.

*

“M-my liege? You wished to seek my c-counsel?”

The servant imp shook before him. This was usually the desired response, but not tonight. He’d even sat down just so he wouldn’t tower over it as much, but alas, there remained a significant margin.

“Hmm. Quite, my faithful”—Stolas paused, realising he didn’t know its name—“imp. I require the procurement of services most discreet. I trust you will be able to oblige me?”

The imp’s eyes widened. It flung itself to the ground, prostrating itself. “Y-your Highness. I am your worm. If there’s anything I could possibly do to satisfy my liege I would gladly—”

Stolas’ head tilted. “Wait, what did you think I was going to…? Never mind. Do you know any reliable assassination companies? Preferably imp-led, people you know?” The imp’s head remained pressed to the floor. “Good grief, get up. We haven’t got all night.”

The imp got to its feet haltingly, something like relief in its stance. Stolas was somewhat offended, despite himself.

“Your Highness, my friend’s cousin works in a start-up, I think they’re called—I think it’s Imp Murder Pro-Professionals, I—”

“Excellent,” Stolas said brightly, steepling his talons. He hadn’t realised imps had friends and families, though he supposed they must do. He’d never really thought about it. “Bring me the firm’s contact details immediately.”

The imp bowed deeply, before scampering off. Stella would kill him if she knew he was starting to think of them as real people.

*

“Hello, Immediate Murder Professionals, what do you want?”

The voice on the other end of the line was contempt itself. Stolas perked up. This lot had to be good if they could afford to project such an image of disdain.

“I would like to make an arrangement,” he said smoothly. “I think you will find it is worth your while. You will be well-compensated.”

“Hold on a sec,” the drawl allowed. “Blitz, pick up the phone! Some asshole wants to talk to you, talks like a ren faire reject!”

“Goddamnit Loona, what did I tell you about actually putting calls on hold! Do you know how much I paid for that hold tune?”

“Well it’s fucking lame! I didn’t sign up for this kinda harassment!”

Stolas raised an eyebrow, tapping the business card against his desk as he waited.

“Fine, you tell Millie that it’s lame, cos I sure as shit ain’t! I’m gonna take this call now.”

“Whatever. Dickhead.”

Stolas cleared his throat, and heard some clicks as phones were slammed down and picked up in good order.

“Hello, Immediate Murder Professionals. I’m Blitz, the ‘o’ is silent. I run this operation. What can I do you for?” It was a familiar voice, somehow. And a good one. 

“Mm. Long day at the office?”

“Sorry, that was my daughter. Teenagers, eh? She’s a good kid really.”

Stolas was immediately charmed. “They grow up so fast.”

“Tell me about it. So, who we killing?”

“Blitz, was it?” Stolas started, noting the change in subject. He supposed he wouldn’t want to talk about his daughter to prospective murder patrons either. “I have a big job for you to sink your teeth into.”

“I’m listening.”

“This is a precise affair. No collateral. Get in and get out. The target’s own mother would need to be convinced it’s a suicide. Understood?”

Stolas heard some scratching and rustling. He assumed Blitz was taking notes.

“Ok, got some details for me, chief? Where’s the target?”

“Over in the mortal realm.” He twirled the phone cable around a talon.

A pause. “You know, uh,” Blitz said carefully. “We don’t have the capacity at the minute to, uh, I mean we used to when I was seeing, I mean, we could—”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself so, I can arrange travel too,” Stolas purred. “Why don’t we get a briefing in the diary, where I can apprise you of… everything.”

“Uh…”

“I will personally ensure you are handsomely compensated,” Stolas said, leaning back in his chair. He was grinning like a fool.

“Alright, when and where?” 

*

When Octavia had been much smaller, she’d loved going to Loo Loo Land. Dreadful place. The rides were dull, the concessions flavourless and overpriced. They didn’t even stock chocolate-dipped mice.

Stella said the place ‘reeked of common’.

They’d first visited as a family to return a favour to Mammon, that old vulture. And since ‘in Mammon’s debt’ was possibly the worst place in Hell to be, Stolas figured a press stunt was getting off lightly. 

Unfortunately, Octavia had taken a genuine liking to it—badness knew why—and since he could never refuse her anything, that meant near-monthly visits for far, far too long. Stella had stopped coming with them after the first two times, and so it became their own little ritual. 

She’d loved going to the big top, or at least he hoped she did. He’d never quite had all four eyes on her at the time because he’d taken to watching this one clown that made Octavia laugh. Not the knock-off sexbot clown, the other one. The handsome imp with the terrible jokes.

“Alright kids, what do you call an owl who’s been caught in the act?”

Crickets.

“A spotted owl,” he’d said with a look on his face like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

The silence was cut through by Octavia’s shriek of delight. Stolas held his owlet closer and thought about what life might be like if he wasn’t a Prince.

Encouraged by this modicum of a reaction, the clown continued, in Octavia’s direction. It was unlikely he could see them, against the harsh glare of stage lights. “And can you tell me where the bad owls go, kid?” He paused. “Owlcatraz,” he sighed out when the dead air became too much.

Terrible, terrible jokes.

Later, Stolas was waiting for Octavia to finish her third go on the bumper cars when he caught sight of him. The clown was standing behind a chain-rail with an ‘employees only’ sign tacked it, just several yards away. He was taller than the average imp by a several feet. His makeup had been scrubbed off, and he was smoking a cigarette. There were a few burnt filters scattered around his feet already. He looked remarkably irritated. The part of Stolas’ brain that went forlorn at the presence of attractive men twinged with sympathy, among other things.

Stolas had hoped it was sheer magnetism, but it was most probably the uneasy feeling of being watched by a twelve-foot owl demon who had his neck turned at a one-eighty angle to the rest of his body that made the clown look up and catch him staring. 

“The fuck do ya want, pal.” 

He flicked his cigarette away and walked off, without checking to see if it had gone out.

Stolas reflexively reached out a leg to grind out the stub. Then he sensed Octavia’s presence and turned to pick her up in his arms. He hadn’t thought of the clown since. Much. When they were not visiting Loo Loo Land. 

The imp standing before Stolas’ desk today had to be him, no two ways about it. He’d made the connection soon after Blitz had entered his office.

“And this way of going topside is foolproof, yeah?” Blitz was saying, hand laid casually on the desk, as Stolas blinked back his realisation. “Because getting stranded in the living world is not part of my business plan. I really don’t wanna be where the people are.” 

He didn’t think Blitz remembered him, he thought with some disappointment—although, why would he? “I can assure you, completely foolproof. It is a crucial component in enacting my Goetic duties, after all.”

The grimoire lay in the expanse between them, heavy and unassuming, hardly distinguishable as the instrument of terror that it was. Blitz’s eyes ran over the sigils. He seemed unsure, where before he had occupied the space with an irreverent confidence to which Stolas was unaccustomed. He wanted it to return. 

“Tell you what, why don’t I”—he leaned back in his chair, where before he’d been sitting with his chin resting on his hands—“pay you in full, up-front. As a gesture of good faith, seeing as this is our first… transaction. Take the book, ply your trade, and return to Hell in good conscience.”

The impudence returned to Blitz’s face. His forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. “Yeah and how do you know I won’t just take the money and the book and run?”

Stolas’ eyes glowed and shut, and when they opened again they were suspended in an endless starry void, desk and chairs and all.

Blitz shrieked and jumped on the desk, tail whacking Stolas on the shoulder as he balanced.

And then it was over, and they were back in the palace.

“You see, Blitz, I have a feeling I can trust you.” Stolas watched Blitz jump off the desk and sit, expression carefully schooled. A little bit of pointed murder filtered through, directed at him. Which was oddly thrilling.

“What the fuck was that, you creepy feathered bastard?” He looked around the expanse of the room in suspicion, the tall ceiling bedecked in floating constellations, the banners bearing Stolas’ sigil. Cavernous, but not the vacuum of space.

“What was what, my dear?” Blitz glared harder. Stolas continued. “I suppose the mind can do some interesting things. Isn’t it wonderful to be able to see eternity?”

Blitz sighed, and muttered something that sounded like, “Building client base. Huge up-front payment.” Then, at a more conversational level: “Right, sure, dead doctor, gotcha.”

“Quite. And I would recommend not using the book in any other way than that I have shown you. Read no other pages, even to yourself. It won’t end well.”

Stolas picked up the book, and leaned over to place it in Blitz’s hands. He lingered in his space for a moment too long. He sensed Blitz’s pulse pick up—not fear. He would have tasted fear.

How fascinating.

“Where-Where’d you get it, anyway?”

“I know I can rely on your discretion in this affair.” Stolas’ grin was achingly wide.

Blitz rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever, be weird about it. Bet you want me to personally hand-deliver it back to you and everything.”

“Oh, Blitz, would you?” Stolas interlaced his talons on the desk. Blitz blinked at his tone.

“One dead med coming right up.” Blitz sighed and stood.

“How exciting!” Stolas stood to see him off. “I knew we could come to an understanding.” Blitz jerked in way that might have been described as a double-take. “Why, is something the matter?”

“Uh—nah, nothing’s the matter, you were just—taller than you seemed back there, it’s all cool—”

And was that a blush? It rather blended into his colouring. Blitz turned to the door before Stolas was quite able to tell.

“—cool, it’s coolcoolcool—”

Stolas’ eyes glowed a deep red. “Happy hunting, murder imp.”

  
*

He watched the imps go about their business, up on earth. 

None would dare question him with regard to what he did with his time, with the exception of Stella. In any case, she was away on a leisure-hunt with Lucifer’s entourage at the minute, to return the following morning. But if anyone did question him, he reasoned, he was a first-time client interested in his investment and the safe return of his possession. Blitz was his point of contact, he would say, which was why he was watching his actions closely. The fit of his dark suit. His competence with a rifle, the satisfied cruelty in his grip. The way blood spattered across his face and dripped, viscous and thick.

Stolas shifted in his seat, and closed his upper eyes. He contemplated taking a few minutes to himself. So to speak. 

No. He had things to do in the here and now. He turned over a sheet of paperwork, something to do with a licensing request on a property at the edge of his estate. The dull duties of the Fallen.

He lasted several minutes before he opened his upper eyes again, and focused in on the Immediate Murder Professionals.

They’d made a bit of a slaughterhouse of it. It looked as though they’d gone after Rauche in his family home. Stolas frowned. Exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. Blitz was swearing a blue streak as a siren began to blare. The imp couple that accompanied him were passing the book amongst themselves in panic. The one with the white hair let the other imp have it, and ran towards Rauche’s shattered-skull corpse. They placed their revolver in its pale hand.

Stolas supposed that would work. The optics of a murder-suicide, triggered by years of Rauche’s work being minimised, his expert concerns dismissed. Additionally, it would forever discredit Rauche’s legacy. 

Perhaps this outcome was even better than his original plan. An impressive team, in their own charmingly cack-handed way.

The white-haired imp joined the others, and with that Blitz activated the book, and they were gone. Stolas watched the pentagram’s glow fade into nothing.

Anticipation rose, gnawing low within him.

*

Blitz was taking his sweet time making his way back to the palace.

Stolas decided to make himself comfortable, retiring to his chambers to unwind on his chaise longue with a fruity cocktail and a violent broadcast. That upstart little deer with his darling pirate radio frequency was on-air again, eliminating Stolas’ competition for him. He should send flowers.

The Radio Demon’s laughter static-fizzed and clattered over a long ripping noise. It was interrupted by a polite knock.

“Yes, enter,” Stolas called, impatience creeping into his voice. He wrapped his dressing gown tighter about himself.

A servant imp opened the door, and stepped back to allow Blitz through. Blitz held the book, looking confused as the door shut behind him, squinting as his eyes accustomed to the low light. They were alone.

“Blitzy! How are you, my murder chap? I knew you’d come back to my nest!” The radio was emitting a sustained shriek, underscored by the Radio Demon’s small noises of effort as he did what he did best. It was only for the broadcast’s benefit, Stolas knew. Blitz said something below this. Stolas sat up and turned off the radio, demurely crossing his legs as he went. He put down his cocktail glass. “What was that you were saying, hmm?”

“Couldn’t hear you—whatever, I brought back your book. Job done.” Blitz’s eyes flickered between Stolas, the book, the portraits looming on every wall. The bed. The portrait of Stella. He moved nearer to Stolas, and reached out to hand him the book. “Where do you want—?” 

“Wonderful, wonderful. I shall surely ask for you in future. Won’t you join me for a drink? I’m due a top-up, let me call a servant.” Stolas made no attempt to move, leaving Blitz awkwardly hanging on to the book.

“Nah I’m good, I should get going.” Blitz’s stare landed on his feathered chest. “Those servants weird me out. You know. Imps and all.”

“Mm, understandable.” Stolas slowly uncrossed his legs. He saw the way Blitz’s eyes followed them. “You could always come in the back entrance instead,” he said with the straightest possible face. He took the book, talons brushing over Blitz’s claws.

“You—I, uh.”

Blitz froze as Stolas stood. For a moment, they were close. Blitz, tall an imp though he was, still only just cleared mid-thigh level. 

Stolas made up his mind. He grinned and crossed the room to an elegant old escritoire, on which he made a great show of setting down the book.

“There, safe and sound. Right here, do you see?” He patted its cover gently.

Blitz sighed. “I see it, Stolas.” He made to turn, body starting to shift away. “Now if you don’t mind I’ll—”

“I tend to keep it near, during my every waking moment. I couldn’t bear the thought of it being stolen away. That would be unthinkable.” His dressing gown slid down his shoulders. Accidentally. “Do you think it’s safe there, Blitzy?”

Blitz hadn’t moved from his half-turn, staring directly at Stolas. The air crackled. “Yeah, I think it’s safe if it’s near you. Safe and sound. What idiot would—ha—what idiot would! Ha.”

“I’m so pleased you think so! The pressure of it all gets to be so much sometimes.” He raised a wrist to his forehead, which both added drama and drove his dressing gown further down his back.

Blitz turned to Stolas. “Now, see here.”

Stolas raised an eyebrow.

The bed yawned in the background between them.

“Wanna fuck?”

Stolas’ eyes glowed as he leaned down. “Oh, I thought you’d never ask!”

*

Stolas had foresight. This was not a figure of speech. It was a sensory part of his being, inherent as touch or taste, reflexive as breathing. 

He did not foresee Blitz tackling him onto the bed, all but ripping off his dressing gown, and pinning him down, clawed hand pressing into his long neck.

“Oh Blitzy, you’re so strong.” Stolas was already dripping wet, losing his mind with lust, and they hadn’t even done anything.

“Lot lighter than you look,” Blitz said, slightly breathless. That flush was back as his eyes wandered over Stolas’ body, clinical. “Right, how do you—”

He was cut off by Stolas’ grip on his erection, over his trousers. Stolas’ eyes flashed red as he pressed at it, arching into the hand circling his neck as he did. Blitz took in a sharp breath, and bucked his hips. “Fuck.” The points of his teeth gleamed through parted lips as he dry humped into Stolas’ hand, while pressing down into his neck.

“Throw me around Blitzy, get that big dick of yours out and fuck me til I’m raw and use me until you come all over my—”

“OK, OK, Jesus, shit, won’t get the chance if you,” Blitz panted out as Stolas’ monologue escalated. He pushed Stolas’ hand away, and before Stolas could say anything else Blitz flipped him onto his knees, and Stolas had to grab the headboard or fall beak-first into the sheets. Before he could get his bearings, Blitz’s hand was at the plumage at the base of his spine. He swept it aside, fingers finding Stolas’ entrance.

Stolas moaned and arched his back as they easily pushed inside.

“Christ, you’re really—really wet,” Blitz said as he worked his fingers deeper, harder. He was relentless as Stolas shuddered and clenched around him. He gasped when Blitz found the nub at his opening, and when he began rubbing circles across it he whimpered, long limbs shivering as Blitz kept going and going, pleasure building painfully.

“Blitzy.” Stolas gasped again, pushing back into him. “Blitzy, please—”

“Something you want?” Blitz’s said, voice dropping into a lower register.

Stolas made a short, strangled sound. “I could tell you in detail—oh satan—”

He actually squawked as Blitz flung himself onto his back between Stolas’ knees, threw his arms around Stolas’ hips, and their eyes met for a moment as Blitz guided his entrance to his mouth.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh my stars Blitz yes,” Stolas panted out as Blitz licked inside him, arms wrapping around his thighs, holding him firmly in place. He thought he might scream, head falling heavy as Blitz drove his tongue deeper. “Please, please I’m so close—”

Blitz pulled back to smirk at him, his face shining with Stolas’ slick, and Stolas swore he would summon some long-forgotten thing from deep in the ether. “Oh, are you?”

Stolas thrust his hips down, trying to find friction, anything. “Please,” he whined, as Blitz watched his agonised writhing. “Give me—give me—fuck!”

Blitz moved back in to run that long forked tongue over Stolas’ sensitive nub, cruelly gentle as he lightly repeated the motion, and again, and Stolas’ talons tore through the sheets as he came apart, shaking violently as he ground his hips into Blitz’s face. He chased the feeling through the aftershocks, until his limbs could no longer hold him up, and he rolled from Blitz’s grip to lie on his back.

Managing to catch his breath, he opened his eyes to watch Blitz get to his feet and wrestle with the fastenings of his clothes.

“My friend,” he said, voice rough, “you have a gift. How good of you to share. Oh, that mouth.”

He would have kept babbling, but that was when Blitz discarded his underwear, and he completely forgot what he was saying, where he was, why he was doing anything that didn’t involve playing with that dick.

“A gift,” Stolas repeated dumbly, reaching out a hand and lifting his head. “Come here. Let me suck you off. Let me touch you.”

“Later,” Blitz evaded his arm as he climbed back onto the bed. He straddled Stolas’ legs. “Wouldn’t want the party to end too early.”

“Ah.” Blitz ran his hand through the sticky feathers at his pubic area. Stolas’ breath hitched. “Mm, Blitz.”

“Let me see something.” Blitz’s hand stroked inside, light as he rubbed along his walls, exploring. Then, his face lit up. “Aha! Thought so.”

He closed his thumb and forefinger around the protrusion, and gently pulled it away from Stolas’ opening.

Stolas jerked as though shot, throwing back his head as he let out a long cry, talons curling into the already-ruined sheets.

Blitz went carefully still, and let go. “You ok? This fine?”

Stolas nodded wordlessly, beak working around air, somehow managing to form a weak yes. “Very. Very fine.” This imp was going to kill him. “It’s sensitive, after. After.”

“Hm,” Blitz stroked Stolas’ dick from root to tip, once, and satisfied that it was at its full extension, he shifted forward to line it up with his own. “That’s hot. Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Stolas moaned as Blitz thrust up against him, his dick rubbing into Blitz’s hard body, hands scrambling to find purchase, finding Blitz’s horns. He pulled.

“Not going to last long if you keep doing that,” Blitz groaned, and threw an arm around Stolas’ thigh, holding it to his waist as he thrust again, harder. Stolas shuddered and came again, already, adding to his come all over Blitz and himself. It was a different shade of orgasm, and it left him wanting more.

“Heaven above,” Stolas snapped, as he clenched around nothing, as Blitz kept grinding into his oversensitive dick even as it retracted, as Blitz looked up at him like he was going to eat him alive. “Fuck me. Blitz fuck me, do you need a formal invitation? I want your big red dick inside me. Tear me in half. Fuck. Come on.” He dug his knee into Blitz’s back, and gave a strangled moan as Blitz shifted and effortlessly slid inside his stretched and wet hole.

“Jesus,” Blitz grunted. “You feel amazing, you—”

Stolas tightened his thighs around him, pulling him closer. He drove his hips upwards. “Blitzy, come on!”

“Alright, alright, hang on—” He seemed to be struggling to gather momentum in the position, due to their height difference. “Do you think it would be better if you—”

Stolas snarled in frustration and flipped them around, throwing himself on Blitz’s dick. Blitz clawed at his hips, his thighs, as Stolas rode him, hard, Blitz thrusting upwards every time Stolas lowered, towering over Blitz, tail feathers arching with his motions.

“You look incredible,” he murmured up at him, snatching at feathers.

“Ah yes,” Stolas growled, eyes glowing, bracing himself with a hand either side of Blitz as he speared himself to the hilt. He balanced on a forearm, to tip Blitz’s chin up with his other hand. “Isn’t this better?”

Blitz flicked his tail out in response, using its tip to tease at Stolas’ nub again, flashing him a smile. Stolas’ jaw dropped, and he fell silent, hips pushing towards all sensations at once, and Blitz continued without mercy, and when Stolas came this time it felt like having his soul pulled out of him.

“I’m gonna come,” Blitz choked out, as Stolas writhed and clenched and moaned around him. His breathing turned erratic, the steady rhythm of his hips faltering, tail lashing. “I’m gonna—”

“Oh! One moment.” Stolas caught Blitz’s look of world-ending rage out of the corner of his eyes—wasn’t payback grand—as he rose up off Blitz’s dick, and moved down the bed. He also saw the look wiped off his face when he swallowed it down, careful to avoid the tip of his beak. He looked up at Blitz, who’d risen to his elbows to watch. He lapped at the head, winked, and shoved its considerable full length down his throat.

“Stolas, you crazy bastard, oh god, I’m—I’m—”

Stolas pulled off at the last minute, and worked Blitz with a firm hand as he came, feeling the wet surge across his face.

Blitz watched him, chest rising and falling. Stolas licked around his beak and sighed happily. 

Blitz’s expression was incredulous. “Well, aren’t you a sexy old freak,” he said eventually, lying back down. The sheets were a lost cause.

Stolas collapsed onto his side beside him. “Mm. Stay as long as you like.” He yawned. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

A hand rested at his shoulder. It might almost have been called a caress. Stolas struggled to listen as Blitz began to say something, but exhaustion claimed him before he reached the end of the sentence.

*

Stolas jumped awake at the sound of something shattering at the side of the bed. He rolled over and saw a vase, in pieces, and on the other side of the room—

“You fucked that imp!” Stella screeched like the chthonic fury that, in fact, she was. “You actually fucked him! I can’t believe I thought that peasant was lying—” 

She threw a decorative bowl in his direction with another scream. Stolas threw himself out of the bed to avoid it, landing on his feet, fully awake. 

“To be honest dear, it was more that he fuc—”

“Honest! Don’t tell me about honest! You fucking liar!”

Stolas hastily got dressed as she continued. 

“—landed right there and embarrassed me in front of Pride’s minister of—”

Fortunately, it didn’t seem as though she was going to throw anything else at him. Mostly because there wasn’t anything to hand.

“—I don’t give a fuck, if you were discreet is one thing but why do you always have to shove your fuck-ups in everyone’s faces—”

He was going to have a headache later. He stretched, and winced. He’d missed that full-body soreness that came with being well-fucked. He hadn’t felt this satisfied for—how long had it been?

“—head always in space, it’s like you don’t even understand what’s happening in Hell right now with that radio freak—why aren’t you listening to me!”

“Hmm? Yes dear,” he muttered. His eyes had caught on the escritoire. 

Its surface was missing a book. Carried away by a naughty imp in the dead of night, without a doubt. Would you look at that. Imagine such a thing!

Stolas’ beak split into a terrifying grin as he let Stella’s admonishments wash over him.

Everything would be fine. He would see Blitz again, sooner rather than later. 

**Author's Note:**

> One day I will write about characters who aren’t scheming all-knowing eldritch aristocrats that slink about the palaces of their ruined kingdoms in sad, horny dishevelment. Today is not that day.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @chanelpirate. Hope you’re all keeping well and safe! I’d love to know what you think, please let me know in the comments below x


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